


all we can do is keep breathing

by moonlitserenades



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1x14 reaction fic. Connor reacts to Oliver's confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all we can do is keep breathing

“I understand if you want to leave,” Oliver manages, his voice trembling. “You d-don’t have to put yourself through this.” His eyes are fixed on the creases of his blankets, which swim sickeningly as he cries. Still, it’s gotta be better than looking up and facing the look of disgust and horror he’s sure will be on Connor’s face. He can feel himself shaking. The things he’d said to Connor before the world collapsed echo around in his mind on some twisted loop, and he wonders, bleakly, if this is some sort of karmic retribution. This is why he doesn’t notice right away when Connor sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“Hey,” he says, and Oliver starts when Connor puts an arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, Oliver, look at me.”

Lifting his head is one of the hardest things Oliver has ever had to do. But Connor...Connor doesn’t look disgusted, or betrayed, or any of the other things Oliver has been imagining practically nonstop since he first heard the news. He just looks concerned, his expression softer than Oliver’s ever seen it before. A whimper tears its way from Oliver’s throat, and he moves to bury his face in his hands. But Connor’s got him first, holding Oliver so tight it’s almost painful. “I’m not _goin’_ anywhere,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re not just gonna deal with this by yourself.”

“It’d be what I deserved,” Oliver mutters miserably. “After everything I said to you.”

“Okay, _no_ ,” Connor snaps, pulling back just enough to glare at Oliver. “You do not get to do that. You do not get to blame yourself for something that isn’t your fault.”

“But I--I exposed you to it, and God, what if you--what if you’d gotten it from me?”

“You didn’t know,” Connor says, his voice gentling again. “The lady who called said I’m safe so far, so we’ll be really careful and I’ll keep getting tested and it’s going to be fine, Oliver, okay? We’re gonna figure this out.”

Oliver shakes his head, carefully freeing himself from Connor’s grip. “I can’t believe you wanna stay.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Connor’s lips curve up in a tiny grin and he brushes his lips over Oliver’s forehead. Oliver lets out a trembling breath and lets his eyes flutter closed at the touch. 

“You’re not mad at me?” he asks, and hates how small his voice sounds.

Connor arches an eyebrow. “Right, because I’ve never fucked up, and every choice I make is the pinnacle of purity.”

That startles a watery laugh out of Oliver, and he drags a shaking hand over his eyes to dry them. “I’m really scared,” he admits, choking on a tiny sob.

“I know,” Connor murmurs. “We’ll get you to a doctor, okay? They have--they have really good meds, and treatments and stuff now and they’ll...they’ll help you.”

Oliver swallows hard against the lump in his throat. “You don’t have to do all this…”

“Well, I’m going to.” He reaches out and takes Oliver’s hand. “Next thing: when was the last time you got out of bed?”

Oliver blinks, sluggish. “Um. Yesterday?” He’d gotten back into bed after he’d gotten off the phone with Connor--after he’d forced himself to lie, and felt so sick at the thought of it that he’d gotten into bed and not gotten up since.

“Okay.” He bumps Oliver’s shoulder gently. “Up, go take a shower, okay? I’ll make you some tea and order us some takeout.”

“I don’t know if I can eat,” Oliver manages, his stomach twisting at the very thought.

“You should try though. Just a little something.” 

Oliver sighs, and manages a nod. “Okay.”

“Want me to join you?” he asks. “We don’t have to do anything, just...if you don’t want to be by yourself.”

“Shouldn’t. We shouldn’t.” He blinks rapidly. “But thanks.”

Connor looks at him for a moment, as though accessing what Oliver needs. He nods, once. “Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done.”

Oliver nods back. “‘kay,” he murmurs.

By the time he emerges, skin scrubbed red and raw in a desperate attempt to make himself feel clean, Connor’s seated at the counter with an array of takeout containers in front of him and a few steaming mugs. Oliver shuffles over and sits next to him, sniffling.

“I got a bunch of stuff,” Connor offers, uncertain. “And I think that’s chamomile,” with a nod at the mug. “I thought maybe it would make you feel a little better.”

“Thanks,” Oliver mutters. He doubts that, somehow, but the fact that Connor is willing to make all this effort means a lot. He manages to eat a little, and then they curl up on the couch. 

Connor wraps an arm around Oliver’s shoulders and queues up Netflix, and when Oliver questions him about it, says, “I’m not going to leave you alone like this unless you want me out.”

Oliver closes his eyes, wishing he’d have the strength to send Connor home. Instead, he shakes his head and manages, “Please stay.”

Connor kisses the top of his head. “I’m right here.”


End file.
